‘Have you heard of The Birth of Monvouros?’ Raeia asked.

‘No, but it sounds pretty.’

Raeia chuckled. ‘Only you would think that.’ She went to Blue’s side. ‘Mind if I sit here?’

‘You can sit on the cot if you want.’

‘You don’t like the bed?’ Raeia asked as she lowered herself to the ground beside Blue. The concrete was frigid.

‘The bed is fine.’ They offered no elaboration, and Raeia was too anxious to probe. 

She settled and found the chapter she wished to read from. 'Ready?'

Blue nodded.

The birth of darkness didn’t come at the same time as light, as one might imagine. Light simply was. There was nothing to compare it to, therefore nothing was amiss. Shadows weren’t in the vocabularies of the world’s languages until Monvouros took its first breath. The creation of Monvouros came hand in hand with that of humans, and the species could never again escape the stigma of bringing darkness to the world. Lebohra in the days before Monvouros was a globe with one single dimension, where the gods lived with Auras, xanites and daemons. The gods created species one by one, crafting fragments of imagination from clay or stars, sifting personalities and traits from their own selves, piecing together entirely new beings. It was a simple time, and many would now say it would have been better remaining as such.

Humans were the final addition to the world, and in order to create them, a sacrifice of divine humanity had to be made. You see, the gods held a unique affinity for emotion which they gifted no other species until one day, the great moon god Itta suggested they tap into the deep pools of humanity and make their purest creation yet. Resplendent Itta and her brother Retalo of the Rising Sun, fashioned vessels to host these ideas. The pantheon, however, were not prepared to bear the true cost. Of the ten gods that existed, none were ready to give up a piece of themselves so great for a creature untested, no matter how beautiful Itta and Retalo had moulded their forms. They were faced with an unknown for the first time, unsure of the true toll and so, the creation of humans was left for another hundred years. 

Nine human forms of moondust and cratyx were left in the corner of the Room of Stars for preservation until such a time as the gods could decide what to do. Time passed, xanites continued to colour the skies, daemons kept order and Auras kept to themselves.  

The gods forgot.  

On the hundred and first day – and in those days it wasn’t light and dark that pulled the hours across the skies, it was the gravity of xanite colours – one of the figures crumbled. Itta ran to the Room of Stars to find one of the children she had moulded herself diminished to nothing, and so she wept and called for a pantheonic meeting. This time, Itta was driven with a hunger to create these beings they would name humans, and scolded each of the gods for their wrongdoings in the past. Her plan to guilt them into sacrificing themselves did not work. She only managed to have the others turn on her. Itta retreated with her brother only to return with a grand smile. 

‘Dova.’ She pointed at the god whose silver eyes had been shut as though in sleep. ‘Dova is the one!’ she exclaimed and cast a cage of moonlight around the god before any other could react. 

‘Itta! You can’t!' Came an outcry from Iosago, brother of Dova, but there was nothing to be done. 

In using the moon as a looking glass, Itta had the power to read far beyond anyone’s capabilities. Itta had seen a purity in Dova’s soul that no other possessed. It was the same moon she used to split Dova’s soul. It was the same moon that split itself from the pressure of Itta’s demand. It was the same moon that then became two. 

 And the world fractured. 

The Eshitha is what they called the space between spaces. It was what separated and brought together all worlds. It held darkness, shadows and more magic than all the gods combined could contain.

In the Great Fracture that followed, the Eshitha seeped through the holes left by Itta’s unruly dumping. While the human forms were nurtured and turned into something that resembles you and I, the Eshitha began to nurture Lebohra in its own way. The lands severed, the skies parted and the Eshitha filled the chasms, separating what was once the original layer of land, and created four. Lapes, where none but the gods and purest lived. Where remained the most of the original Lebohran land, architecture, culture. Where magic’s energy was clean, untainted by the Eshitha in the way the others would become. Giscus, an odd realm where the magic energy could be easily consumed by either light or darkness, where Dova was far from, but also a whisper within reach. Korre, the sparking, alive rivers and seas of molten lava, ever shifting across and under its crust. For a thousand years, Korre was the only place Dova could continue to exist in anything that resembled a true form.

And for just as long, humans were lost; drowning in Grond's darkness. 

Until Dayestae, daughter of Iosago, found her way through the Eshitha and began filtering light and magic through to allow the skies to light and the moon to shine. Dayestae didn’t pity humans as the gods did. She didn’t have quite as much power as her father, but she was able to gift some of the first peoples with dhaheri. Not quite a gift of magic, yet enough to make them stronger, more skilled and better able to even the field in the battle against Grond’s treacherous wilderness. 

While Dayestae worked at bringing light to Grond, an undeniable force of darkness surged from the depths of the world. In Korre, Dova was transformed into a bestial creature, which for decades wreaked havoc across the dimension. Burning. Freezing. Tearing. Until they regained control quite suddenly, and without warning. Dova cast this new controlled and terrible identity into the universe. Monvouros. The dark, new power cast a shadow on Lebohra’s light where none had existed before. Darkness became Monvouros. Monvouros became Death. 

As Monvouros wandered the sparse lands of Korre, they felt Itta’s eyes radiate from the large white expanse of Ridderah, the Big Moon. Now and again, Monvouros cast a smile to her, but the moon remained silent. They smiled at Crë, the Small Moon then, and sent their name to it. Crë’s blistering, sparking surface drank the darkness, and ensured all who cast their eyes upon Small Moon would know Monvouros.

And from there, the shadows grew.

Raeia finished reading the story and there were a few moments of silence between them as Blue processed the words, or maybe they were asleep. Raeia tried to discern if the stillness was from rest or disappointment or awe.

‘No wonder I liked the sound of Monvouros’ name,' Blue said suddenly, making Raeia startle. 'I quite like Dova too. Maybe I’ll take that one next.'

‘That’s what you took from the story? A name?’ 

‘Names are important.’ 

Raeia paused, taken aback by the repetition of those words. Blue had uttered the same thing when they’d first encountered one another. Raeia wanted to ask Blue if they remembered their conversation, and even more so, if they remembered their true name.

‘What do you take from it?’ Blue asked.

‘A story about Death and Darkness is the one that gives you hope? I think you’re as crazy as you look, and this is coming from the Monarch of Crazy, so I know what to look for,’ Blue said with a flourish of their metal mittens.

‘You can’t see me.’

‘I imagine you look very pretty and equally very crazy.’

Raeia scoffed, cheeks hot. ‘You’re insufferable, you know that?’

‘Of course,’ Blue mused. ‘The Scilla’s god Itta is a bit of a pill too, isn’t she?’

‘Nearly as pillish as you.’

Blue laughed. A true, unreserved laugh, and it felt so good to hear. ‘Pillish. I like it.’